Standing Still
by entropic order
Summary: Sometimes, the results of compulsory physical education aren't bad at all. (Blush. One-shot. Rated for language.)


**_Disclaimer: _**Not mine. Alas.

* * *

**Standing Still  
**

At first it was the principle of the thing.

Then it grew. It wasn't voluntary anymore. Now, it's his place. His position. It's what he _does. _Everyone else expects it of him. They need someone to make fun of, and Mush is it.

Mush can run just as fast as the rest of them. He can throw a ball, can kick, can catch. His hand-eye coordination is perfectly fine. He can do anything they can. He just _won't_.

He stands, back pressed against the dull blue mat that lines the wall. His eyes are locked on the far side of the gym where the bleachers stand folded, as docile as the kids running around the room are supposed to be.

They're not, of course. They're caught up in the game; it's their whole world right now. The gym is supposed to be ruled by the teacher and his state-issued whistle, but his throne has been usurped by yells and rowdy laughter and the squeak of sneakers on over-varnished wood.

Amidst the anarchy of a miniature kingdom overthrown, Mush is silent. He's last in line as always. Up ahead, his teammates are staring as one of their number kicks a ball so high it bounces off the ceiling. Mush doesn't pay attention at first, but then the ball ricochets off the basketball hoop above his head and he has to dodge it. The sphere of royal purple rubber bounces harmlessly off to the side, and the others laugh.

He ignores them. He has more important things to think about. Like the question of whether P.E. class is _actually_ hell, or merely the creation of a dark, sadistic human mind.

He thinks it's probably the former. No mortal could be so evil as to come up with something as obviously diabolical as this game. It's called _matball_, for Christ's sake. How could that possibly be anything not evil?

Mush does not notice the way the human barrier between him and actually having to participate in the idiocy that is matball has been slowly thinning. But then, all of a sudden, it's remarkably apparent that there's only one person in the line in front of him. He'd been hoping that he'd be able to just… not kick. That would have been nice.

He doesn't want to have to be physically forced to participate. Then the idiots would actually touch him, and he's worried they're contagious. So at his turn, he actually walks to the designated position, just as he's expected to. And then the pitcher rolls the ball, and Mush watches it speed toward him, watches his foot connect with it and send it soaring up…

…And then the world stops, and Mush stops with it.

They're staring at him. He doesn't see the point of it. It's the same thing he does everyday, standing here. It's not like they're _surprised_. It's not like they'd actually want him to act any other way, no matter how much they pretend they would.

"_God_, Mush, would you just _run _already?" Some random kid says. Mush doesn't look up to see who it is.

"No." He mumbles, and slips back to the end of the line.

He wonders if they'll ever get more creative with their insults. It's the same every day, harsh whispers on the way back to the locker room, shouts when they get there. There are three general themes:

"Why won't that fucking idiot run?"

And,

"God, we lose every day because of him."

And of course,

"Fucking fag."

The gym is sort of a sacred space. Nothing that happens there carries over to the rest of the school.

It's kind of like Las Vegas that way, though Mush would take Vegas over P.E. any day. Come to think of it, most people would. But for entirely different reasons.

In any case, no taunts follow him down the hall. No one from his gym class so much as talks to him. When Mush passes any member of that class, he simply averts his eyes and keeps walking.

His friends haven't caught on to his reasons for hating 6th period yet. They always just assume he doesn't like sports, and he lets them. It's not like it's important, anyway. He can take it. He tolerates all of his classes, though he hates them. Well, except one.

Mush likes Art class. There are actually two people he doesn't hate in his art class. And he has time to sit and think, because it's _quiet_. Sometimes.

"Was there English homework?" Blink collapses into the seat opposite Mush. Obviously now is not sometimes.

"Not that I did." Mush likes Blink, so he doesn't just ignore him like he would most people.

"What about what you didn't do?"

"I have no idea."

"So I'm asking Dave?"

"So you're asking Dave." David is always late for Art because he comes from the other side of the building, where he takes AP Latin. He is so good at languages it scares people, and takes all three their school offers. Of course, by the time he gets all the way to Art, he's usually too out of breath to use said scary languages.

David is the second person Mush doesn't hate.

Mush stares down at the still life he's drawing. It's not coming out very well. He never liked still-life, it has always seemed boring. He likes drawing people. Because, if nothing else, the shading is more fun on people. Not that he can shade without the subject turning into a raccoon. But at least he tries.

Slowly, Mush lets his pencil drift to the corner of his paper. He doesn't feel like drawing some random bowl of fruit. Instead, he just starts off with a few lines in the corner. Very light, very loose. They don't really look like anything specific, but drawing this way is kind of like meditation. It helps him think. And sometimes, eventually, something good comes out of it.

A few darker strokes, and a face begins to form. Usually, when he draws like this, Mush doesn't erase any lines, doesn't try to turn it into anything specific. He just lets the pencil move, taking its own course to whatever picture it wants to draw. Now, though, the face he's drawing is becoming kind of familiar, and he decides it should be Blink. It already looks kind of like him, so Mush won't have to change it much. He'll just add a few lines… here… and here…

Mush is not really that good an artist, but he thinks this particular sketch is actually not bad. It has taken form in the upper left-hand corner of his paper. It's very small, only about two inches long, but Mush has still worked in details. Like here, where the band of Blink's eyepatch pushes a little of his fair hair out of order. And there, the way Blink sort-of-smiles even when he's not actually smiling.

Mush looks up at Blink to see if his drawing really is all that realistic or if he's just making things up, and all of a sudden his concentration is broken as David crashes into the seat next to him. The bell rings less than a second after he sits down.

"Not… late…" He gasps, sprawling over onto the table. Mush smiles, amused, but his gaze drifts back to Blink even as he does so. Blink, for some reason, looks at him too, and they share a grin.

Blink breaks the moment first, and he's back to almost-smiling as he asks David,

"So, was there any English homework?"

David pushes a notebook in Blink's general direction as he tiredly sorts through his stuff to find his copy of the art assignment. Mush knows that notebook very, very well. It's where David writes down all of his homework for all of his classes. Mush would probably keep one like it, but he instead dedicates his time to not yelling at the people in his gym class for being stupid.

As Blink pages through the notebook, he begins to frown worriedly. He slams it down on the table and slams his head down on top of it.

"Five chapters. Five! Chapters! That I didn't read. For my English class, which is next period. Oh God. Can a teacher legally disembowel you? Because that's so what he's going to do. I wonder if I can sue him for giving us more homework than it's humanly possible to complete…"

Mush pats his head consolingly.

"Don't worry. I haven't read it either, and he can't disembowel both of us. I hope."

Strangely enough, most of the conversations they have during art involve disembowelment. Yet the period still leaves Mush feeling happier than he would be otherwise.

Apparently, getting your organs ripped out with a plastic spork is vastly underrated.

In P.E., they do not always play idiotic games like matball. Before matball, they did track, and before that, soccer. Mush misses soccer. He was good at soccer.

Now, they usually play matball, but sometimes they intersperse with some other strange game that seems like it was made up by a gang of retarded chimpanzees on acid. It's kind of like being regressed back to third grade.

Even when they play seemingly normal, albeit juvenile, games, like capture-the-flag or dodgeball, the P.E. staff changes the rules almost enough to make them unrecognizable. In capture-the-flag, for example, they made up some weird "safe zone" where you can't get tagged, and something called "Code Red" that Mush still isn't too clear on.

He plays capture-the-flag, though. He actually likes that game, and even if it chips at his position on the social spectrum, he's damn well going to play it.

There's strategy in capture-the-flag, which the rest of Mush's team ignores entirely. He doesn't try to the help them on that count, because they wouldn't listen even if he did. It's glaringly obvious what they need, though. A stronger defense.

Half their team keeps getting put in jail within three minutes of the start of each game, which leaves their flag open for capture. If they would just designate a few people as defenders, and slowly pick off the other team until there was more of an opening for an offensive move, their team could win every game.

Not that Mush is going to tell them that. He's perfectly happy to stand in the back and guard the flag. It's nice, because he doesn't have to run much, or interact with the others.

He stands perfectly still, eyes trained on the other team and the line that divides the gym in half. He will notice as soon as anyone tries to cross. He's the only one on their team who's actually paying attention. The rest of them have all picked one person to guard and are currently pacing the line like large cats about to pounce. The conversation is considerably lighter than it would have been with large cats, though. Large cats don't talk much.

The one-on-one thing they've been doing is bad strategy, purely because the other team has more players than they do. Mush knows this, and tries to compensate as much as possible. More than once, he has been the only thing that kept the other team from scoring a point.

Much as he usually enjoys a game of capture-the-flag, Mush is extremely happy when the bell rings and he can escape. He pulls the jersey that distinguished his team from the other one over his head, and throws it on the growing pile of equipment by the door. None of the jerseys have been washed in years and their scent is overwhelming. Mush really, really can't wait to change his clothes.

He almost breaks into a run on his way to the locker room, but he manages to restrain himself. He's the calm, apathetic one, after all, and he's not going to dash everyone else's expectations.

Not even to contradict those same insults he hears every day, which, for once, are not entirely true.

Mush walks home.

He has no car, and he refuses to take the bus. Ever. There's something about the bus he just can't stand. Everyone is so _loud_. And it smells funny, kind of like a combination between bleach, vomit, and unwashed socks.

Not to mention that half of his P.E. class rides the bus, and he really wants to have as little contact with them as possible.

Mush likes walking, especially when it's sunny out. He likes the way sun spills onto the leaves on the trees and then drips onto the sidewalk below. He likes hearing the birds singing, and the sound of their songs combined with the _whoosh_ of cars going by.

Sunny days remind him of Blink. They have that way of making you happy just by existing. It's like you'll never be sad again, just because this great thing, this _wonderful _thing, is here. Blink is like that, too.

A lot of the time, when Mush walks, he doesn't go home immediately. Sometimes he goes to the library, and takes out a book, and reads outside in the sun. Sometimes he walks even further, past an art museum or the theater. Mush has friends at the theater, though none of them go to his school. If only they did, he'd probably hate it a lot less.

Sometimes, he tries to get Blink to go into theater. Mush thinks Blink would be a great actor. He's already good at improv. But Blink has never taken him up on it, for some reason. Mush doesn't talk to Blink much outside of school, but he guesses Blink has something else that takes up his time.

Mush doesn't want to go home. Not now. He's too tired, and he _really _doesn't want to have to deal with people. Especially not his family. So he changes direction and heads for the library. He thinks they've finally got a copy of _Measure for Measure_, though that's not very likely, seeing as he's been trying to get it for three years. The library is sadly lacking in Shakespeare and doesn't even have a _Complete Works_. He'd prefer to see _Measure for Measure_, anyway, but no one's ever done a production of it in the area.

The only problem with the library is that a lot of the kids from his school go there, because it's so close to the school. Mostly, when Mush goes there after school, they ignore him. He can handle that. It's better than having to talk to them.

"Mush!" Blink practically collides with him before skidding to a halt. He's grinning madly. "Hi!"

Mush smiles back. So maybe he _does _actually have to talk to someone, but it's _Blink_.

"Hey! Where'd you come from?"

"Well, when a mommy really loves a daddy…" Blink says, leaning heavily against Mush. His eyes are sparkling even as he grins.

Mush smacks him lightly. "Shut up, you."

"What? You asked."

"Ha. Very funny."

"It _was_, and thank you for noticing. Guess what!" Blink has always had a very short attention span and a tendency to change topics with no notice whatsoever.

"Um. What?"

"I--" Blink is cut off, mid-sentence.

"Well, well. It's the idiot and his boyfriend. You better actually _play_ tomorrow, fag."

"Fuck off, Delancey." Blink says to the newcomer.

Mush just turns away and keeps walking. It's just his luck that Oscar Delancey, by far the worst of them, would be near the library today. Fortunately he doesn't seem to be following as Blink and Mush walk away. But he was there, and that was bad enough.

Blink breaks the silence first.

"What was that about?" He asks, looking at Mush concernedly. Mush shakes his head.

"Nothing." He speeds up a little, "Look, I should… go. I should go home."

"Mush…"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Blink."

He doesn't turn around.

Mush doesn't like being at home. It's not that his house is a particularly bad place, or that his family is mean, or anything. It's just that there's so _many_ of them.

And yet, ironically, he has no birth siblings.

Mush quietly slides the door closed as he enters the house. He can smell something cooking in the kitchen. Obviously, it's Anne, because his dad doesn't cook. He avoids the kitchen on his way upstairs.

When he reaches his room he pulls the door shut behind him and collapses at his desk. He only has five minutes before he has to leave again, so it would be pointless to start anything. He pulls out a book and starts to read.

When, a short time later, the doorbell rings, he drops the book and picks up his bag again. Mush won't bring the book. He never does. It would get too confusing, reading the same book at two houses.

On his way out, he yells up to where his father is working in his studio,

"See you tomorrow, Dad!" His father's an artist. Mush sort of inherited his talent, but it shows up for him more in acting than in painting. His mother never liked that, it reminds her of his father. Not that she'd mention that, of course.

Outside, his mother is leaning against her car. She is thin and tired looking, and her pink suit emphasizes the paleness of her skin. She's the polar opposite of his father, whose skin is darker than Mush's even when he's tan from the summer sun.

"Hey, Mom." Mush says as he slides into the car. She gets in half a moment later. She smiles at him and starts to drive.

"How was your day?" She asks politely when they're on the road and she doesn't have to concentrate on not running into the wall of Mush's father's house.

"Fine. How was yours?"

"It was… long. Some of the ads were screwed up and we print in a few days, but we couldn't get a hold of the artist so we had to fix them ourselves. We still don't know if they're what the advertisers wanted or not, but they're just going to have to fucking deal with it. And then Donnelley didn't have the proofs ready, so…"

Mush stops listening. He doesn't care, really, but it helps her feel better, to talk. He just wishes she would swear a little less.

When they get to her house, Mush gets out of the car without saying anything. The back door of the house creaks as he slams it shut behind him.

Every time he goes to his mom's house, he is surprised by the contrast between it and his dad's. He should be used to it by now, as it's been nine years, but still he is amazed.

His mom's house is slightly bigger than his dad's but it still seems more crowded. It is decorated in dark reds and browns and yellows, while at his dad's they prefer shades of light blue. It is warm and busy and chaotic, while his dad's is more calm and cool. If anyone ever asked, Mush would not be able to say which he liked better.

Neither seems like home. He doesn't spend enough time at either for that to be true.

He passes the kitchen, where Jon is making dinner, and waves a quick hello. When he passes the living room, he does _not _wave to his younger stepsister, May. Besides, she's too absorbed in TV to notice him. Upstairs he ignores Ian's room and goes into his own.

Even Mush's room at his mom's house is totally different from Mush's room at his dad's house. It's smaller at his mom's, and more cluttered. He doesn't have time or incentive to clean here. It's decorated differently, as well.

At both of his houses, though, the decorating schemes are remnants of a younger Mush. At his mom's, he has a constant reminder of his gothic phase.

He remembers that year clearly. It didn't suit him at _all._

Mush strongly dislikes most of the posters on his walls, be they of bands he hates, movies he hates, or random slogans he hates. Except, of course, for the Gashlycrumb Tinies one, because who doesn't love the Gashlycrumb Tinies?

He also strongly dislikes the bland grey walls and the bare wood floor that's covered with white spots from the time they redid the ceiling.

But he only spends half of his time here, so it's not bad. And at least it's private.

Today they are playing matball again, because God hates him. Mush stands silently, almost sullenly, as he wonders what the exact odds he'll be picked last are. Probably something like 2:1. Or something.

Whatever. Mush still doesn't quite get probability. His friend Race would know, but Mush only knows Race from the theater, and Race does not go to his school.

Suddenly, God finds another way to display His hatred of Mush.

"Meyers, you're a captain."

Oh. Fuck. No. He can't do that. He won't. Because… because he fucking _can't_.

"No." He says, quietly but forcefully.

"What did you just say?" His teacher, Mr. Hice, says, voice even lower than Mush's. The rest of the class snickers slightly.

"I said 'no,' sir."

"Who is the teacher, Meyers?"

"You are, sir."

"Then do what I say!"

"No."

Mr. Hice's eyes narrow.

"Get out of my classroom." He says.

Mush goes.

Sitting outside on the cold tile floor, Mush decides that he probably shouldn't have done that. His parents will be called, and then he'll have four very angry parents. He'll definitely get ranted at, and probably get sent to a religious private school like May and Ian have gone to since they came here with Jon from Texas. Possibly the same one, which would suck. He likes to avoid his stepsiblings as much as possible.

It's not that much of a big thing. Other kids talk back to their teachers and get in fights all the time, and none of them get pulled out of school. But Mush isn't like them. He has _four parents_. And he's done this before, back when he was seven, during his parents' divorce. He'd gone to a private school, until then. And now he is in public school, because he was been expelled from the private school.

Mush doesn't see _how _his parents could send him to private school again. Even if it was the same one, why would they want him? He doesn't do his homework. The only subjects he excels at are art, English and drama. And now, apparently, he has "authority issues".

Whatever. He'll hate school wherever he goes. He'll always have to deal with those same people. There are people like the idiots in his gym class in every school, and he's not going to escape them just by transferring.

Mush leans down, cradling his head in his arms. It still sucks. Because, four? That's a lot of parents. Especially when they're angry. He probably won't be anywhere near a theater for the next five years. He's prepared for overreaction.

Suddenly, Mush is aware of someone standing over him. He looks up sullenly, expecting Mr. Hice, and sees… Blink?

"…Mush?" Blink says, frowning.

"What?"

"What happened?"

"…Nothing."

Blink glances around the hallway and then sits down next to Mush.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Come on, Mush. _Tell me_." Blink slides an arm around Mush's shoulders. Mush leans into him almost unconsciously.

"Nothing!" He is silent for a few seconds. "It's just… I fucking hate gym."

"What _happened_?"

Mush sighs. "I wouldn't play, alright? I just… I couldn't. And they all got mad at me and the teacher sent me out of the room. And I really, really shouldn't have done that. Because now my mom has an excuse to send me to private school, which she's been wanting to do for ages anyway, and I'll have to go to the same school as May and Ian, and I don't _want _to, because… because I'll miss you."

He hadn't realized that last bit until he said it out loud. He sighs again. "God, I sound like a girl. But it's _true_."

Blink pulls him closer. "It'll be alright. I'm not about to forget about you if you switch schools. And besides, we can always just… disembowel them, or something."

"What _is _it with you and disembowelment?" Mush asks sort-of-disgustedly, and laughs anyway. Blink laughs too, and doesn't reply.

They sit there quietly for a few moments. Then, Mush says,

"So what are you doing here?"

"Making you feel better, obviously."

"No, I meant… Don't you have Biology this period?"

"Um. Well. Yeah."

"So why aren't you there?"

"Because… ah… I kind of skipped. Because, I was going to catch you as soon as you got out of class and, and give you… Well…" Blink reaches into his bag and pulls out a book. "Here. For you."

Mush stares down to where he cradles a brand new copy of _Measure for Measure_ in his hands.

"Blink…Oh my God. I've been looking for this for—"

"Three years. I know. You told me."

"But… _Why?_"

"Because you were always sad after P.E., and I didn't know why. And also because…"

With no warning at all, Blink leans forward and kisses Mush.

Mush really wasn't expecting that.

It's kind of strange, because this is _Blink_, of all people. And they're both guys. But at the same time, it's nice. It's warm, and sweet, and it's a very, very Blink thing to do. Most of all, though, it's fast, and Blink quickly pulls away.

He stares at Mush, looking very surprised and slightly fearful. Mush wants to tell him that it's alright, that he liked it, but before he can, Blink has gotten up and sprinted away down the hall.

Mush feels incredibly alone.

He's still feeling just as alone as he numbly goes through the rest of the day. He and Blink spend art not-looking at each other while David tries gamely to resurrect the conversation that usually fills their table.

The rest of his classes aren't much better, but at least he doesn't have them with Blink.

Mush goes straight home and starts on his homework at his dad's. When his mom comes to get him, he is silent throughout the car ride and then goes up to his room without speaking to anyone. Later, crammed onto a couch in front of the TV with May and Jon, he is just as alone as ever.

It is his mom's night to cook, and Ian is in the kitchen talking to her. Their voices are audible over the murmur of the television. But suddenly, Mush hears something completely unexpected.

"Hello? …...Mush? Who's Mush?" It's Ian's voice. Obviously, he's on the phone. But why would someone call for Mush? Unless…

_Blink._

"…You mean _Michael_? Yeah, he's here. I'll get him; hang on. _Michael, phone!_"

Mush jumps up and races into the kitchen. He grabs the phone, ignoring Ian.

"Hello?" He says breathlessly.

"Mush?"

"Yeah."

"Listen, I'm… I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I _swear_—"

"Blink."

"…Yeah?"

"It's _okay_."

"It… is? Really?"

"Really."

"But I _kissed _you!"

"I know. I was there."

"A- alright, then. You're sure you don't hate me?"

"_Yes_..."

"I really am sor—"

Mush cuts him off again. "Blink, can you meet me at the library, like, now?"

"Uh. Okay…"

"Good, I'll see you in a few minutes."

Mush hangs up the phone. Ian and his mom are looking at him like he's crazy.

"What the hell was _that_?" His mom asks.

"That was my best friend." Mush replies lightly. "I'm going to the library now, okay?"

He doesn't stop to hear her response. He just heads for the door. He has to convince Blink that he doesn't hate him. Mush doesn't like it when Blink is upset. It's not _right_. Blink being sad is like gravity not working. It's just not allowed.

Fortunately, the library is walking distance from his mom's as well as from his dad's, so Mush gets there within five minutes. Blink got there before him. He is standing at the base of one of the decorative trees that grow on the library's lawn.

The shadows around him make him look even sadder than he did earlier, during art. His hair and face are pale in the darkness and the one eye that is visible is cast downward, giving his face an uncustomary melancholy.

He is, Mush is beginning to realize, beautiful.

"Hey," Mush says, stepping forward.

Once Blink looks up, he seems more confused than anything else, but the sadness is still there.

"It really is okay." Mush adds, and kisses Blink.

Mush doesn't really know what he's doing, and Blink is too shocked at first to respond, so in the beginning the kiss is just as light as the one in the hall was earlier. But then Blink gives in, and it grows gradually. It's slow, and kind of wet, and they keeping bumping noses, but that doesn't matter. It's still unspeakably perfect, just because it's Mush and Blink and they're together.

Ages later, they pull away.

"So it is alright, then." Blink says quietly, still as close to Mush as possible.

"Yes." Mush says, and smiles. None of it matters, anymore, except for this. Mush doesn't care about his P.E. class, or his mom swearing too much, or whether he has to go to private school. Not while he has Blink.

They kiss again, and around them the world swirls on in chaos. Alone at the center of it all, they are perfectly still.


End file.
